


Die Another Day

by orphan_account



Series: Just A Game [1]
Category: Hunger Games (2012), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 21st the UK government run the Hunger Games every year providing entertainment for the whole country.<br/>According to Sherlock the chances of someone he or John's being chosen as Tribute are tiny.<br/>He couldn't be more wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't set in the future like The Hunger Games, (and has no Hunger Games characters in it) it's set in 21st century England between Hounds and the Fall. I haven't called the different places Districts, but the districts would be:  
> 1\. Scotland  
> 2\. Northern England  
> 3\. Wales  
> 4\. Northern Ireland  
> 5\. Southern England  
> 6\. Isle of Man  
> 7\. South-West  
> A very short prologue to begin with. Enjoy x

The Hunger Games. Once a year, every year.

The thought always sickened John. The fact that the government could happily send anyone between the age of 15 and 50 to a random location to kill.

Being an ex-soldier meant he had strong morals and that he had experience in killing. The Games seemed to mock that; if a person had to kill another, it should be for the greater good, for life or death, not for entertainment.

When John had met Sherlock, he'd been fine with the man; it was his brother that bothered him.

Mycroft Holmes held a high position in the British government; what position exactly remained a mystery to John, but surely Mycroft could work against the Hunger Games, surely he would want to…

"He doesn't care," Sherlock had told John when he'd brought up the subject. "It doesn't affect him, so it poses no interest. If he stood against the Games, he'd put his job, maybe even his life, on the line, two things he doesn't want to risk."

John had no answer to that.


	2. This Year's Tributes

"I wonder which poor sods will be this year's tributes," John murmured, more to himself than Sherlock, turning the TV on just as The Hunger Games selection came on to Southern England.

"Hello everyone!" exclaimed an over excited host who'd obviously had more Botox than necessary.

"Welcome to the 29th Hunger Games. The tributes for Scotland, Wales, the Isle of Man, and Northern England have been selected; all that remains are the tributes from Southern England, Northern Ireland, and the South West to be selected. We are now live in London where the next tributes will be chosen"

The TV carried on chattering.

"Aren't you interested to see whose chosen?" John asked Sherlock.

"I thought you despised the Hunger Games, John?" there was a tad of mocking in his words.

"I do. I just feel sorry for whoever gets chosen. What if we know them?"

"John, there are millions of people in Southern England; statistically, the chances of us knowing them are -"

"I don't care about the statistics, Sherlock; it could still happen!"

Sherlock just rolled his eyes before lying down, closing his eyes and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

"So now we're here for the selection of the female tribute."

The camera turned away from the host to show the huge TV screen.

3…

2…

1…

"And the female tribute for southern England is"

Huge letters lit up the screen.

"HARRIET WATSON!" the Host roared

The crowd cheered at their own freedom.

"No," John whispered, "Please, God, no," his throat constricted. His breathing became pained.

"What?" Sherlock drawled; he obviously hadn't been listening

"Harry was chosen. Harry, my bloody sister! She's going to die, Sherlock"

Sherlock opened his mouth.

"Just don't, Sherlock," John held a finger towards his flatmate to prevent him from arguing.

"John, I-"

"Just shut up!" John snapped, "It doesn't work like this! She's Harry she doesn't know how to fight! She'll be dead within minutes! She'll…God…She's going to die…."

"Now then!" the crowds quietened down, and the Host was grinning again. John wanted to wring the man's neck. How could he be so care free and cheerful when he just given someone a death sentence?  
"The male tribute for London will be…" The host turned to the computer. "SHERLOCK HOLMES!" he declared. People cheered again. John froze; his mug of tea fell to the floor.

No. Not Sherlock. Please not Sherlock. Not Harry. Not the two of them! He turned to look at the man who hadn't moved from the sofa. His eyes remained shut as if he'd not heard it. The seconds trickled by.

"Well, this time tomorrow, the tributes will be in the preparation centre," the Host grinned. "We'll release their photos soon, but you'll have to wait until the interviews to see the stylists' work."

The Host winked at the camera.

"Now, I'm handing it over to Ireland -" The TV was cut off as John turned it off. He shifted in his chair to face his friend.

"Sher-"

"You need to leave!" Mrs. Hudson scurried into the room. "Smart boy like you, you can hide from them! You'd get away with it."

Sherlock still didn't move.

John looked down at his hands, anywhere that wasn't Sherlock. Sherlock suddenly jumped up, causing both John and Mrs. Hudson to jump backwards. Within seconds he'd marched out of the room and slammed his bed-room door.

"My best friend and my sister," John whispered shaking his head. It wasn't until Mrs Hudson walked out that John let the tears escape his eyes. He was going to lose the two most important people in his life.


	3. Loose Ends

John was woken by an almighty 'thump' from the living room, 7:02am his clock read, he groaned loudly. He was about to start some creative swearing at Sherlock when yesterday came back. He swung his feet out of bed, dragging his hands down his face before heading to the source of the noise.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Sherlock had at 3 cardboard boxes occupying what available surface areas there were.

"Cleaning up" Sherlock declared throwing a pile of paper into the nearest box

"What?" John raised his eyebrows, Sherlock sighed shortly turning around to give John a 'Shut up I'm busy' glare

"No. No no no. Harry will be drowning herself in booze right now! I should probably be there trying to comfort her, but I'm here with you! I can't handle you having an 'I'm a tribute so let's bin everything' phase"

"A what?" a smile tugged the corner of Sherlock's lips

"Breakdown"

"As I'm going into the Games. I will have no need for any of my belongings for a long time perhaps never again. Therefore they can be put into storage, I can claim them in the future if possible"

"Seriously? You're just going to saunter into the slaughter house"

Sherlock picked up the skull from the mantel piece eyeing thoughtfully before chucking it over his shoulder into the box behind him

"Just stop it" John took the skull back out setting it down on the coffee table.

"I'm saving you a lot of time John. Why would you want a dead man's possessions?"

"Sentiment" John snapped

Sherlock gave a disgusted snort

"Sherlock, it's just…They're going to come and get you very soon"

"In about 2 and a half hours"

"They're coming soon, just leave it. There must be something you'd rather do"

Sherlock snorted again

"Can't Mycroft do something? Do you want to see him before they come?"

"Why would I want to see…doesn't matter" Sherlock dropped on to the sofa pressing his fingers against the nicotine patch stuck to his arm "Why don't you go and see Harry John? She's needs your sympathy more than me"

John ignored him, Harry would be drunk out of her mind by know, a sight that always broke his heart.

"Mrs Hudson has a point…" he tried "if anyone could escape them it's be you, we could get a cab to Harry's and you two could run for it, you'd only have to"

"Run for the rest of my life. It would be interesting but would quickly become boring. Do you honestly want to condemn your sister to the life of a fugitive, always running, always hiding. Never going home ever again." His brow creased fractionally "Why do you hate the Hunger Games John?"

"Because my best mate and sister are going to be in them!"

"And?"

"They're just wrong"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow not speaking but John knew what he was thinking, the unspoken words, 'We both know it's a lot more than that'

"You've already worked out so what's the point…" John turned away looking out the window "My college girlfriend. Lucy. We were both 18, she got chosen… she only survived two days then someone stabbed her back, punctured her lung, the camera stayed on her, watched her choke on her own blood"

Sherlock nodded, satisfied that his deduction had been correct. They didn't speak for the next 10 minutes, the only movement was Sherlock stretching out on the sofa then jumping off and stalking into the kitchen, he returned with two mugs and placed one down in front of John before lying back down on the sofa

"Not drugging me this time?" John said quietly earning himself a smirk.

"I didn't drug you last time"

"You were wrong" John took a sip of his tea, instantly spitting it back into the cup

"I wouldn't be here to see the effects of the drug anyway"

John sighed standing up and stretching his legs. The doorbell choose that moment to ring loudly, the sound resonating through 221b Baker Street, both men looked at the door for a moment. Sherlock pulled on his coat and started winding his scarf around his neck. A few moments passed then Lestrade walked into the room. Sherlock turned around so his wrists were easily accessible.

"I'm sorry" Lestrade said as he fixed the hand cuffs to Sherlock's wrists to transport him to the Preparation Centre "If anyone says 'Happy Hunger Games'…" he trailed off shaking his head "You know I wouldn't if I"

"You've got no choice" Sherlock cut in

"But"

Sherlock silenced him with a 'just leave it' look

Lestrade glanced at John who hadn't spoken since his arrival. John couldn't say good bye.

"Laterz" Sherlock said to John half-heartedly. John felt even more pain as Sherlock disappeared through the doors. 'Laterz' not 'Bye' that meant Sherlock expected to him to come, to say his last good bye. Family and close friends were the only ones allowed to say goodbye within the Preparation Centre itself. John hadn't planned on going; well he had, Harry would need to see him, Sherlock was strong though, he didn't need John breaking down in front of him. He didn't think he could face it.

A final goodbye to Sherlock Holmes and Harry Watson.


	4. Goodbyes

Sherlock remained silent in the car; Harry was sat beside him staring out the window.

Sherlock had never officially met Harry but that didn't mean he wanted to kill her in the Games. His eyes switched to the window watching Baker Street leave his sight. If he was sentimental he'd be upset by the fact that he'd never see it ever again.

Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective. The man he'd have to leave behind, a detective wouldn't last five minutes in a game of murder.

But Sherlock was knowledgeable in the art of killing.

"So your John's infamous flat mate" Harry turned to look at Sherlock, she had same colour eyes as John, but, they didn't hold that depth of understanding, her hair was slightly darker than John's and her skin was pale from months of booze and a day's panic about the Games. And probably fear of what John thought about this, how he was taking it, and the fact that he hadn't called her to make sure she was alright

"Yes" he hoped his short answer would indicate that he didn't want to talk

"He thinks the world of you" Harry told him, envy sparkled in her eyes, she was John's older sibling, she would automatically want him to look up to her, not someone she'd never met

"Yes, he's expressed that with every possible variant in the English language"

Harry nodded looking back out the window

"These games they've always been on it's just…"

"They just happen" Sherlock said turning to look at her "like car crashes, fires, cancer. Events that are common, people die of them all the time but you never connect them to you. You never think your life would end like that"

"You think we're going to die."

"I didn't say that. I'm a consulting detective and you're the sister of a soldier. It's my job to know how people kill."

"You look scared."

"I'm not scared" he snapped

"If you say so" her eyes thinned on him. They remained silent for the next 10 minutes until they pulled up to the huge glass building that was the Preparation centre, it reached towards the sky reflecting the sunset appearing to glow a deep orange

"Here goes nothing" Harry muttered under her breath just loud enough for Sherlock to hear. The doors of the car opened, security guards dressed in the unique Hunger Games staff uniforms.

"Good luck" Lestrade shook Sherlock's hand, Sherlock nodded before striding into the building maintaining his air of superiority. Harry trailed behind him head down, at the door they were met by more security guards and roughly lead down a corridor.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John rubbed his hands on his trousers, taking deep breathes. Two doors stood before him, one contained his flatmate the other his sister. He looked up when he heard the sound of footsteps coming his way, Mycroft had arrived

"How can you let this happen?"

"I can't just pull him out John it doesn't work like that and you know it" Mycroft said calmly

"He's your brother. If I could get Harry out I would put everything I had on the line, family is everything! You practically run the government surely you can do something"

"I've looked John. There's no small print. No escape clause. It would appear even Sherlock can't escape this time." Mycroft voice held an emotion close to sadness that sounded alien coming from him.

There was a click as the doors unlocked. Before John could get another word in Mycroft had stepped into the room containing his younger brother. John stepped forwards his hand clasping the door knob, the flawless metal surface ice cold against his clammy hand.

"John!" the second he stepped in Harry's arms were around his neck "you came"

"Of course" he managed to control the tremble in his voice; she buried her face in his neck

"I can't do it John. I can't kill someone!"

"I know" he rubbed her back with one hand and held her with the other

"I don't want to let you down"

"You wouldn't"

"I'll be dead within the first day" she sniffed

"No you're a Watson" he pushed her away and held her at arms-length so he could look her in the eyes "We're strong"

"Uh-huh" she smiled weakly

"Sherlock won't kill you"

"Yeah but what about the other 12! Have you seen the guy from Ireland? He's huge? Like you said, we're Watson's we're tiny"

He laughed

"I love you John" she smiled

"Love you to" he hugged her again "You'll be fine. You've got be"

The timer bleeped.

"Times up" Harry muttered

"Harry if I could take your place, if I could enter for you…I would."

"I know Johnny" she held his face in her hand "See you soon"

"May the odds be ever in your favour" he kissed her on the forehead before walking out the room. The lock clicked behind him, he took in a deep shaky breath wiping tears from his eyes.

Mycroft stepped out of Sherlock's room, no expression readable on his features

"He'll want to see you" Mycroft told John before walking off briskly

"Of course" John muttered to the empty corridor. Sherlock's door hadn't been locked, John still had time. He opened the door, Sherlock's room was the same as Harry's, every wall pure white, and a table sat in the middle. Sherlock was lounging in a metal chair against the back wall; he didn't open his eyes at John's entrance.

"Hi" John managed, Sherlock opened one eye lazily. "How are you?"

Sherlock snorted dismissively "Fine"

"Of course" John gave a tight smile

"You'll be alright"

Sherlock looked gazes with him for a moment, John broke the connection looking up at the wall

"I haven't got long" He only had a minute left. They had kidnapped his best mate and probably going to get him killed and now they only gave him a few minutes to say good bye. Sherlock stood up now.

"Good luck I suppose" John said shaking Sherlock's hand gripping as tight as he could "You'll be fine. You're always fine" John tried to convince himself more than Sherlock. Sherlock smirked

"Of course"

The clocked bleeped announcing that time was up. John gripped Sherlock's hand for a moment longer, then let go and stepped towards the door.

"Good Bye John" Sherlock said just before the door shut John stared at the door for a moment before leaning back against the wall

"Good bye" he murmured before he was escorted outside.


	5. Restyling

Sherlock was alone now, awaiting his stylist. Something he was defiantly not looking forward to. He was happy with his clothes, in fact he was happy with everything about himself, he didn't someone to be hired to change him.

Harry was in the room down the corridor, room 5, he'd noted mentally in case he found a way out.

His own door glided open silently and a woman stepped in. She had long golden hair tied in an elaborate bun on top of her head. She wore a deep emerald silk shirt that was tucked in to a pair of high waisted jeans, she had a smudge of green above her eyes and she wore a lip gloss that was only noticeable when the light reflected of it on the right angle. Sherlock scanned her.

Ring: expensive, matches her hair and eyes not outfit didn't buy it for herself. Present from loved one, likely fiancé, not in fashion business.

Necklace: Bought herself, at least five years old, worn often, high sentimental value.

Phone: Very new, top of the range, bought for appearances not practicality

Job: Interested in fashion, obviously. Chose the job as a challenge doesn't agree with Hunger Games morals but sees no point in rebelling or protesting.

"Hello Mr Holmes" she smiled brightly showing perfect white teeth

"Sherlock" he accepted her hand shaking in for a moment before withdrawing

"Sherlock" she appeared to be pleased "I'm Jasmine. I'm your stylist"

Sherlock clutched his hands together behind his back and raised an eyebrow.

"If you could remove your clothes and change into these for the moment. Your clothes will be cleaned and then I'll decide on what you're wearing for the Open event tonight" she smirked slightly then passed Sherlock a grey t-shirt and a pair of jeans, she noticed his reluctance

"Look Sherlock. You know how this works. You do as I say. You follow the rules you get more supplies and weapons in the arena. Every rule you break is one less weapon, one less day's supply of food. I don't think the rules are right but I'm following them. So for your sake not mine just do what I say." She thrust the clothes at Sherlock and left the room, giving him privacy.

Sherlock watched the door for a moment before slowly removing his scarf, folding neatly then setting it down on the table. He repeated the ritual with every item he was wearing as if it were a final farewell to his former self.

When he was finally dressed in his new clothes Jasmine returned. He was lead through into a huge room full of clothes and any other item needed to redesign a person. Sherlock was sat in a chair, Jasmine's team crowding around him.

"Wet his hair" Jasmine demanded, the team yanked Sherlock's head back and a shower head was pulled from a tap soaking his hair when he was released his curls were weighed down into his eyes.

"Level 3 cut" she commanded "It'll make him look a bit younger we can work with a 'sweet and vulnerable' look" the team nodded enthusiastically and they started cutting his hair. His dark curls falling to the floor.

"Vulnerable?" his tone was flat

"I've researched you. Consulting Detective. Action hero detective will get you sponsors but will give you secrets to other tributes. For now your sweet little Sherlock Holmes who's still upset by the loss of his father. For the Gamemakers, your Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective who is both a genius on an expert on the inner workings of murder"

Sherlock thinned his eyes on her for a moment

"If you would come over here" she gestured to the other side of the room. Sherlock stood up stretching to his full height, towering over Jasmine.

"You're old clothes have been denied, you might have weapons hidden in them," Sherlock snorter "but I did manage to keep your scarf for you" she pointed to the bundle of pale blue material curled up on her desk.

"Any way we need to choose your outfit for tonight. Need to make a good first impression!" She grinned manically at him.

Sherlock sighed his eyes flicking around the room; he switched his mind close to a trance like state knowing the next few hours would be hell.

Harry's stylist, Matt, had quickly got to work, forcing her to wear jeans and a grey t-shirt and then cutting her hair, adding a side fringe some layers and dying it a deep brown colour. She was then dressed in a strapless midnight blue dress that flowed past her ankles and around her feet. She was wearing navy blue high heels to give her some height, so she didn't look so short when standing beside Sherlock. She was then taken into another room again. Sherlock Holmes was sat in there, dressed in a very expensive looking tux, Harry doubted that he could look any more uncomfortable if he tried. Matt went to sit by a blonde woman who must be Sherlock's stylist and she sat by Sherlock.

"Hi" the woman smiled "I'm Jasmine"

Harry just nodded.

"Anyway" Jasmine smile "We want to play our cards right with this. For tonight and all event leading up to the Games we need game plan, how you two should and shouldn't act."

"An idiot could work out that we were faking it" Sherlock sighed.

"I can't act" Harry added

"My thoughts exactly"

Harry threw Sherlock a dirty look. She was beginning to hate him already.

"Not if we play it right" Jasmine smirked "Anyway Sherlock your all sorted sorted for tonight" she looked him up and down "and Harriet Midnight blue, your team colour and it happens to match your eyes as well. Very nice" she added to Matt

Sherlock and Harry exchanged glances

"Oh! And a few rules for tonight; one stay with each other all the time, two be polite to people, you want them to like you and three try not to talk to other Tributes, we don't want them to know anything about you"

Ok?"

With that she grabbed Sherlock's wrist and lead him back into their room leaving Harry, once again, with Matt.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Right" Jasmine turned to Sherlock "You know that I know about your father"

"Evidently"

"Please don't take this the wrong way but we can use it to our advantage, you can still be upset about that but be fighting for him. If that's alright with you?"

"I don't have another option"

"Well, that's more of an interview thing anyway" she watched him for a moment "Feeling ready for your first public appearance?"


	6. Open Events and Public Apperances

John was surrounded by loud excitable people all chattering and barging into him, he was stood near the front of the crowd of the Open Event, it was always held on the evening of the day after when the tributes were chosen. He'd be able to see the two most important people in his life, even if it was only from a distance.

Everyone had decided to go together, needing each other for support. They were near the front of the crowd him, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and Molly. The giant screens sat above the stage were running through the different people for the different areas, two from each, two people that may, may not know each other forced to grin at the cameras and then get thrown into a battle field to kill. 7 areas that meant 14 people. The different areas came up, the different teams coming on stage waving but looking terrified.

Then the screen changed

Sothern England the screen read Sherlock Holmes and Harriet Watson

The camera moved away from the studio and to the stage showing Sherlock and Harry standing side by side walking onto the stage. They both looked so different. They didn't look like themselves anymore.

Sherlock's black curls had been cut short making him look younger and his normal suit and coat had been swapped for a black tux. Harry was dressed in a long flowing strapless dress that trailed out behind her. Her hair completely restyled. They stood side by side, forced smiles on their features. The camera remained on them as the host continued to blabber. Sherlock's eyes met John's for a moment, just a fraction of a second there was no fear there but how could he not be scared?

"They're on their own now" the Host smiled down the camera "Now onto Ireland!" Sherlock and Harry both raised a hand waving bye to the crowd before walking off.

"Whose bloody idea was it to invent a TV show were people kill each other!" John snapped as the Ireland tributes walked on

The Host continued to chatter in the background "It has been said that Sebastian Moran was born for an event such as the Hunger Games. Moran is receiving a lot of funding from a mysterious source who is very keen on the games"

John turned back to the stage

"Moran" John whispered, recognising the name, the camera had swung around to show a huge man. Leaning on one leg creating a picture of relaxation as he smoked, his whole body was muscled and lean like he was born to hunt. His eyes were such a deep shade of brown they were almost black. Beside him stood a small woman with golden blonde curls, she looked terrified; Moran continued smoking dark eyes observing the host in a hostile fashion.

"John. I'm glad I found you" Mycroft had materialised behind him

"Why?"

"My position in the government grants me access to the Feast. I can get you in"

"Really? Thanks that would be great"

Mycroft nodded curtly.

"If you would come with me then"

John went with Mycroft; Molly and Lestrade agreed to take Mrs Hudson home.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The two men stood together waiting for the tributes to appear.

"He didn't tell you that he was chosen before did he?" Mycroft asked John as they walked

"What?"  
"I'm also sure that he didn't mention that two days before the Reaping was his birthday" Mycroft gave a humourless smile. "So two days after his fifteenth birthday his name was selected, he was terrified, I'd never seen him like that, he'd been on drugs at the time and evaded my every attempt to get him off. But when his name was chosen he just stopped, just sat in the corner of his room not speaking. I sat with him for the day and he didn't say a word just sat there, silent because he was still a kid really, he was a lot more mature than others his age but that didn't mean he was ready to die. By the end of the day our father left. We thought he'd walked out on us then later that day on TV we saw him on there, he'd volunteered to take Sherlock's place, those were the days where you were allowed to take another's place, they soon cancelled that as parents took their child's place so often. Our father died after being in the games for 11 days 4 hours and 32 minutes, Sherlock never forgave himself." Mycroft sighed "In his eyes he killed our father which isn't true but Sherlock is the most stubborn man currently on this planet."

John remained silent in shock. Suddenly applause and cheering broke out across the room. The 14 tributes stepped out on stage all of them looked uncomfortable.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Mycroft soon disappeared into the crowd to talk to some colleagues; John remained at the side of the room.

"How did you get in?" Harry came up behind him pulling John into a hug

"Mycroft. You two best friends now then?" John said trying to smile

"It's one of the rules" Sherlock growled, the scowl on his face made him look more like himself

"Rule 1 keep together at all times, rule 2 be polite" Harry was obviously mimicking someone

"Why are you following the rules?" John asked Sherlock

"Because every time we break a rule we get one less weapon, or other item that may aid our survival, in the arena"

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest.

"It's a rubbish way to die" Sherlock sighed "I thought I'd have an interesting death"

"How was it you wanted to die when you were a child? I believe it involved octopus wrestling" Mycroft came up behind them

"At least I'd stand a chance against an octopus" Sherlock snorted.

"You're smarter than any of the others in there you stand a good chance" John told the detective "I mean you should be able to find a way out of this"

"It's too late John" Sherlock's eyes met John's "I can't get out of this."

"How can you be so accepting of this?"

"You didn't seem have any problems when it was announced. You suggested running but then you accepted it. So why shouldn't I?"

"You know what I mean" John muttered

"No John. I really don't" he turned to Harry "We should go and talk to other people otherwise we'll be deemed antisocial and get no sponsors"

Harry nodded she gave John a quick hug before she followed Sherlock into the crowd.

"He looks delicious in a tux doesn't he" a voice came from beside John, he span to see Moriarty smiling at him

"What the hell are you doing here?" John choked

"Johnny, you've been so caught up with watching out for Sherlock and Harry that you didn't noticed me. I'm playing for Northern England. Ireland was a bit obvious for me, I'd be noticed sooner. But I got Sebby to play for Ireland. I can tell you Johnny this year's Hunger Games are going to be exciting." Moriarty grinned manically before melting into the crowd.

John ran into the crowd looking for Sherlock, but the tributes were being called back, on the other side of the room Sherlock and Harry both turned to go

"Wait!" John scrabbled towards them grabbing both of them "Moriarty!" he panted

Sherlock raised an eyebrow Harry frowned

"He's the Tribute for Northern England. And the Tribute for Ireland works for him."

"I know John. But I'm a tribute they won't listen to me"

"I can tell them. I can save you both"

"Good bye John" Sherlock pulled out of John's grip and disappeared into the crowd.

"He's right" Harry told John, unshed tears in her eyes, she strode of towards the stage slipping slightly in her heels. John stood watching asnSherlock and Harry walked backstage. A moment later Moriarty was onstage, waving at the crowds grinning before he followed Sherlock and Harry out of sight.


	7. Training and Scoring

Not much was heard about the tributes during their two months training. Anything Hunger Game related on TV was to do with friends and relatives. Mycroft had managed to keep John off the radar. Sebastian, from the bank, had managed to get interviewed boasting about how he and Sherlock were 'really good friends' at university. John had thrown the remote at the TV. Bristling with annoyance he'd stalked over to the TV yanking the plug from the wall and going to bed.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and Harry were both dressed in their training gear. A black outfit with a white stripe on each arm and SE (for Southern England) printed on their backs. 5 days into their training and they were both aching all over. Sherlock being Sherlock successfully blocked the pain from his mind and worked through it, knowing he needed to absorb every lesson taught in here if he stood a chance at surviving the first day. Harry tried to follow his lead not wanting to look weak, but she was suffering she had never done anything in this league, and she was being forced to go cold turkey from booze.

They were trained together not with the other tributes, that had previously ended up with a Tribute death before they even entered the arena.

Sherlock had decided that he had no intention of killing Harry, he hoped the feeling was mutual, even if it wasn't he knew her style now, he could easily avoid any attempted attack from her.

He was practising with knives today, flinging them through the air to slice into the target, Harry was in the far corner learning about edible plants, Sherlock had enough knowledge on the subject to continue knife throwing.

Every day passed like this, learn something new, practise the new skill, eat, sleep. Start a new day.

Sherlock hated it, the routine, the same every day. He was becoming bored. Something John Watson referred to as dangerous. He smirked at the thought of how John would react to him throwing knives around the place, the next knife sliced into the centre of the bulls eye.

"Good shot" one trainer said coming over to observe Sherlock. Sherlock's smirk disappeared and he threw another knife.

"That's enough for today" the head trainer yelled. Sherlock dropped a knife back on top the table, before he was escorted back to his and Harry's suite. Time to eat again.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock picked up an apple and started to chew on it thoughtfully.

"So"

He managed to not roll his eyes, why did Harry always deem it necessary to talk

"You and John"

"What's about us?"

"You're just friends"

"And flatmates. Yes"

"Ok"

"Problem?"

"Not at all. Just curious."

"And you're with Clara isn't it?"

"Yes. Well…it's complicated. John told you?"

"I saw the phone the rest was easy to deduce"

"Your deduction thing. Is it just a trick or can actually work that much out about a person just by looking at them."

"As I tell your brother. People see but they do not observe"

"So your saying any one could make your 'deductions'?"

"With practise. Yes."

"John said you can delete things from your mind like a computer?"

"Yes" He was getting impatient

"That's different"

"Thank you"

She paused, Sherlock could practically see questions floating around her head

"So are you a good actor?"

"If I need to be"

"You willing to snog for TV?"

"Never. Are you?"

"No chance in hell mate. I'm with Clara, I have no interest in men. At all." She paused "What do you plan to do in the Games?"

"Not die. What do you plan to do?"

"Not kill"

\-----------------------------------------------------

The tribute scores were to be released tonight and the tribute interviews were tomorrow, Sherlock, and the others, would be questioned on live TV about their lives. John knew barely anything about the man, so what would be said tomorrow was as much a mystery to him as it was the rest of the population.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock chewed on a piece of toast. He actually got hungry now. Training was physically exhausting, his body required the extra energy. His score would be decided today. Hopefully it would be a good one.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Mycroft straightened his tie as he strode down the corridor, his authority caused no one to get in his way.

He'd managed to get on the Game makers scoring team. Being Sherlock's brother prevented him from become a full time Gamemaker, so assisting in the scoring would have to suffice. He hoped his brother would give him reason to give him a high score.

Part of him was curious to see what skills Sherlock would be showing today, his deductive skills would be considered amazing but completely useless on the battlefield. Sherlock had taken fencing classes when he was younger again, but fencing was almost an art form, the way the blade and movement was controlled. Within the arena in a battle for life and death, no body would honour the rules of fencing.

Mycroft's thoughts snapped back to reality as he stepped through into the show room. Plush arm chairs sat around tables all facing the large room below. Weapons were lined up against the wall and all the targets were in the shape of a human body, bulls eye on the head and heart. Everything about the room encouraged death. Mycroft sat on the far right enabling himself to get a good view of the weapons hitting the targets.

\-----------------------------------------------------

He watched passively as tribute after tribute came in and displayed their skills. Some of them were amazing, lethal. He watched with more interest as Harriet Watson came in. She showed her skills with a knife, her height and speed offered her a great advantage. John had seriously underestimated his sister.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Then Sherlock came in dressed in a fitted khaki t-shirt and pale brown trousers which were tucked into a pair of sturdy black boots.

Sherlock ran his stormy eyes across all the scoring team quickly;

-Lawyer

-'Professional' Gamemaker

-Doctor

-Another Lawyer

-Bank manager

-Two more Gamemakers

-Head Gamemaker

-Mycroft.

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back letting his gaze fix onto the head Gamermaker.

"Sherlock Holmes male tribute for Southern England" the man stated glaring down at Sherlock obviously expecting Sherlock to flinch or look away but he gained no such a response.

"You may choose only one weapon and display what skills you have with it"

Sherlock nodded, Jasmine had said to keep his mouth shut, as much as he wanted to offered a deduction or a sarcastic remark he went with the logical choice, get a good score. Get good sponsors. Get more help in the arena.

He breathed in deeply and picked up a bow and a sheath of arrows from the wall.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow.

He's obviously expected Sherlock to go for the knives. Sherlock pulled back the string back tight, letting it bite into his finger for a moment before he releasing it. It sliced through the air and into the dummy's left eye. The head Gamemaker pressed a button and the dummy started moving. Sherlock drew his second arrow and let it pierce the point where the dummy's heart would be. And then with the final arrow he shot through the centre of its head

"Thank you Mr Holmes"

Sherlock walked towards the door, catching Mycroft's eye for a fraction of a second. Mycroft gave a short nod before turning away. Sherlock made no response and left.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John logged on to his computer:

'Which region would you like?"

He clicked on Southern England, he didn't care about the others.

Two pictures came up. One of Sherlock with his short hair, behind him was the image of a raging storm. The other was Harry with her brown hair, behind her was a sunrise, the sky stained different shades of pink orange and red.

John hovered the mouse of the image of his sister. She'd scored 6 out of 12, not an awful score, but not a great one either.

He moved the mouse to Sherlock. 10 out of 12. That was a good score. A very good score.


	8. Interviews and Acts

John was around Lestrade's to watch the interviews, Molly and, surprisingly, Mycroft had also turned up. The room was full of a mixture of curiosity and fear. No one had spoken for ten minutes. There seemed to be no appropriate way to break the tension. No one showed any interest in the other Tributes. When Moriarty came up he'd played the public like a piano. They loved him. They would cheer loudly for him. Punching their fists into the air and whooping like maniacs. It was only the other's presence that stopped John from shooting the TV.

His anger only finally simmered down when Harry appeared on screen, all the other tributes had been dressed formally in ball gowns and suits. But Harry walked in dressed in black leggings and a denim shirt that was much too big for her but a thick black belt pulled it in displaying her figure. Harry was going to be his indication of how much the tributes lied to get public adoration.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Hello Harriet"

"Just Harry" she offered a dazzling smile showing her now bleach white teeth

"So Harry. Tell us about yourself."

"Not much to tell. My brother's ex-army got shot and sent home. Parents both died a while back."

"Any hobbies? Interests?"

"Drinking?" she offered, the crowds laughter suggested they thought she was joking. John wished she was. The Host was beginning to see how difficult Harry was.

"Well then who are you fighting for?"

"My older brother and my Clara. They would never forgive me for dying. And I don't plan on letting them down"

The crowd cheered

"Well Thank you Harry. May the odds be ever in your favour."

"Thank you" Harry shook his hand

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was next. He walked on dressed in a pair of jeans, a white shirt and a black leather jacket. The casual look appeared to work as the crowd cheered at his entrance. He smiled at the waving as he walked across the stage. His eyes, like normal, were looked portraying no emotion.

"Sherlock Holmes!" The host greeted him shaking his hand warmly

"Evening" Sherlock smiled

"He's got an act set up" Mycroft told the others "His stylist decided that the real Sherlock wouldn't get many if any sponsors. So they had to set up something that the public would like"

"So Sherlock. I hear you're a private Detective?"

Sherlock smiled tightly

"Consulting Detective."

"There's a difference?" the crowd laughed with the Host. Sherlock managed to keep his smile in place

"Well Sherlock when looking you up, well more specifically your surname, we found out that you were chosen as a Tribute many years back."

"Yes" Sherlock lifted one leg up to rest his ankle on his knee.

"And your father took your place, he sacrificed himself for you"

John noticed the flicker of emotion in Sherlock eyes, whether it was real or fabricated it disappeared before John could work out what it was.

"Yes. Let's just say I'm not an avid fan of the Hunger Games." Sherlock concluded

"Indeed" The Host gave an amused smirk.

"But as I have no choice but to compete in them I plan to fight like hell. I'll avenge my father's death so to speak."

The crowd loved that cheering whooping as madly as they did for Moriarty. Sherlock's gaze remained on the host.

"Well as I'm not allowed to mention names, but I hear that you are Harry's brother's flat mate. Is this true?"

"Yes" Sherlock seemed reluctant to talk about John

"You work together?"

"Sometimes yes."

"Well, as you and Harry have this connection if it comes to it, if opportunity arises will you kill Harriet Watson?"

"If it means that I'll live then yes" Sherlock's pale eyes looked with the Host's

"Just an act" Mycroft reminded John

"Purely out of curiosity. Why have you and Harry come dressed so casually tonight?"

"Well, with help from our stylists, we decided that the interviews are about getting to know us. And I don't normally dress in a ridiculously expensive suit, that's not really me. So I settled for a more casual outfit."

"So this is how you normally dress?"

"Unless it's cold then I normally head for a trench coat"

"Well Sherlock Holmes I'm afraid your time is up. Time for the next Tribute"

Sherlock stood up shaking the Host's hand

"Good luck Mr. Holmes"

"Thank you" with that Sherlock disappeared off the stage making way for another Tribute.


	9. The Beginning

John grabbed a mug of coffee and turned on the TV.

The Hunger Games had started. The screen showed the highlights of the events building up. The Open event outfits. Laughing and cheering at the interviews. There was a last run through of the Tribute scores and then the camera showed a new image. The Arena. The first time it had ever been seen by the public. There were 14 holes in the ground where the Tributes would soon appear from.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock stood alone in the Launch centre. He was dressed in the same outfit as when he'd been displaying his skills to the Gamemakers, the only difference was the addition of a weatherproof coat. He'd been given a bow and three arrows. If he wanted more he would have to brave the Cornucopia. Which he was planning on doing anyway, he'd need some food and medical supplies if he planned on surviving.

He was lead through into a slim cubical like room which held a Perspex tube with a metal disk within in it.

Sherlock stepped inside and stood on the disk.

\-----------------------------------------------------

5 cubicles down Harry stepped onto her own disk desperately trying to control her breathing.

\-----------------------------------------------------

One cubicle down from her Moriarty allowed a smirked to pass across his face before he stepped onto the disk and straightened his coat.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The disks clicked into life and glided up into the Arena.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock shielded his eyes from the crisp sunlight.

Sunlight. He hadn't seen any for weeks.

He brushed that thought aside and focused on his surroundings. It was a forest. Deep green foliage creeped from every patch of soil

60 SECONDS

The countdown had begun. Sherlock's eyes found the cornucopia. It was brimming with everything from a tent to packs of jellybabies.

40 SECONDS

Sherlock looked at the other Tributes. Some shook with fear. Some cried silently. Some were obviously debating the pros and cons of stepping off their disk and getting blown up.

30 SECONDS

Some Tributes stood chins high, trying to look brave. Their hands trembling above there one given weapon

20 SECONDS

Moriarty waved at Sherlock smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Harry gave him a slight nod as if to say good luck

10 SECONDS

Sherlock tensed ready to run, ready to grab the khaki bag near the back of the pile, it should contain enough food to last a week, two if he was careful.

5 SECONDS

Behind the bag sat a sheath with at least 12 arrows in. That's what Sherlock needed

3…

2…

1

'LET THE GAMES BEGIN!'


	10. Run

Sherlock leapt forward. Sprinting as fast as was possible for him. He vaulted the shorter side of the cornucopia. He grabbed the bag throwing it over his shoulder and grabbing the sheath of arrows and then he legged it into the forest. A knife whistled past his ear. He didn't risk a glance backwards but knew that it was Moran who had thrown it. He was the only one strong enough with a good enough aim. A cry of pain escaped his lips as another knife caught the side of his calf. He stumbled for a moment but refused to fall. He carried on running until his lungs burned with the need for oxygen.

He then scanned the surrounding trees checking for other Tributes. When he was satisfied that he was alone he opened his bag, inside was some dried fruit, breadsticks and some nuts. A bland diet but if would sustain him. There were a few antiseptic wipes and some bandages. He quickly grabbed one and bound his leg with it, the wound wasn't too deep but was bleeding enough to grab his attention. He quickly went back to his bag. A bright orange blanket was nestled at the bottom. Just like the shock blankets Sherlock had received from paramedics on numerous occasions. The colour wasn't the best and would stick out like a sore thumb against the dark colours of the forest but at least he wouldn't die from hypothermia at night.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry had only risked grabbing a small bag that contained a few bags of dried fruit. She turned to run but was faced with the small woman from Ireland.

"I'm sorry" she told Harry raising the knife. But then she froze and gave a strangled sob, a thin stream of blood slid down her chin. Harry saw Sebastian Moran stood behind folding a knife.

"Good job Sebby" said the man stood beside him, Moriarty Sherlock had called him.

"She was on your team" Harry choked  
"Like you said" Moran rolled the knife between his fingers "'was'"

Harry turned and ran holding in a scream of fear. She kept running ducking and diving through the forest. She finally settled inside a hollow log allowing her breathing to calm.

"I won't let you down John" She whimpered hugging her knees to her chest.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John was on the edge of his seat, his heart thumping like a hammer against his rib cage. Harry had been so close to being slaughtered. His breathing came in ragged gasps. He didn't know if he could survive maybe months of watching Harry or Sherlock being hunted.

Back in the arena an image lit up the sky, the group photo of all the Tributes out shone the moon. 5 Tributes faded instantly from the image

"HELLO TRIBUTES" boomed a voice "5 OF YOU DIED TODAY."

The images of the dead Tributes came up one by one.

Isle of Man:

-Thomas Smith

Northern England:

-Mellissa Porter

Northern Ireland:

-Lucy Banner

South West:

-James Hughes

-Sarah Phillips

"ONLY 9 OF YOU REMAIN. TOMORROW BRINGS A NEW DAY. NEW HOPE. GOOD NIGHT TRIBUTES"

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry remained inside of her log, her breath formed clouds in front of her nose as she shivered violently and pulled her coat around her knees.

"Night John" she murmured before curling up as tight as she could

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock curled up between to huge roots from a ugly gnarled oak tree. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders. Above him an owl screeched trying to ward of the strangers now occupying its home. Sherlock shivered against the cold. The next few weeks were going to be hard.


	11. Settling In

A new day. Sherlock remained motionless. Using only his hearing and sense of smell to take in his surrounding before opening his eyes. He could smell the damp earthy smell of a wet earth, and hear the rustling of distant leaves, the flap of bird's wings, the distant sound of a bird chirping a morning song. Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

The sun was just creeping into sky, pinks and oranges started to stain the blackness. Sherlock stretched his long limbs out testing their flexibility; luckily the cold hadn't stiffened them. He took a sip of water from his bottle and ate half a breadstick. Today he needed to decide on a plan. He decided talking aloud wouldn't be ideal, he didn't want to reveal his ideas to other Tributes. But then again what ideas did he have?

He was drawn away from his thoughts when he realised something was wrong.

"What's wrong? What's different?" he murmured "Oh!"

The birds had stopped singing the only noise was the swaying of the trees. There in the distance, barely a murmur. Someone was coming. Sherlock silently rose from the ground shoving everything into the bag and then climbed the tree. He climbed high and balanced in the centre of a wide branch. Below him two men and a woman walked past.

"…happens when we've killed the others?" the girl asked asked

"Wait until we reach that hurdle Sue" the smaller man replied

"Just kill the others bastards then we can have a big show down"

The girl raised her blade

"I don't trust either of you" she snarled

"No offence love but no one trusts anyone in here. You can be a good girl and come with us or we can kill you"

She didn't lower her blade, the larger of the two men took a knife from his belt and cut her throat. A boom sounded through the forest signifying her death.

"She was annoying me" he rumbled, placing his knife back on his belt. Not bothering to clean the blood from its surface.

Sherlock kept his breathing level and quiet. He remained motionless as they stumbled through the forest. After they'd been out of sight for ten minutes Sherlock climbed back down leaping off a lower branch to land on the balls of his feet. He crouched by the now dead woman, Sue. He closed her eyes and took the blade from her lifeless fingers. She had a pouch tied around her waist, he zipped it open and took what was there, it was only some strips of dried meat and some water purification tablets but both would be helpful and would give him a few more days. He nodded a silent thanks to her before. Heading off further into the forest. Away from here the other two Tributes had previously headed. He needed to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere to make a plan.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry woke up groaning as she unfolded her stiff limbs. The cold had done her no favours. She silently debated whether to remain in the log or to brave the forest to go and some more food and a proper shelter.

She remained motionless for a moment then decided she couldn't stand another night in the log. She peaked out into the wilderness. There was no one in sight. She wriggled out into the grass and stood up hand hovering over her knife. Still no one appeared. She ran her fingers through her dark hair and hooked it behind her ears. She chose a direction at random and strode into the trees.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock had found a cave it was dark and gloomy inside. So he placed his bag and spare arrows inside it and perched on a rock outside. He kept his bow and three arrows on him. Just in case. The cave would be his base for his stay here. His belongings were hidden so he could leave them here while he explored the surrounding area. He was still unsure of what to do here. Should he purposely hunt the other Tributes or should he wait for them to come to him?

He wondered if the cameras were watching him now. If he was on TV? If John, Lestrade and Mycroft were watching him?

He ran his fingers through his now short hair. He had enough food for just over a week. After that he'd have to hunt or find another Tribute to kill and take food from but chances were by then they to would've run out of food.

He stepped forward to look out at the forest. He never had taken time to watch the Hunger Games, they always seemed so trivial, the sort of thing the papers gossiped about. They'd be gossiping about him now. He snorted loudly for no particular reason then jumped up, and went into the cave. He'd have to play this carefully, he wanted to bore the audience. Pretend to sleep for a while and then he would try to find the limitations of the Arena.

Harry picked her way through the forest, every now and again she would trip over a stray root, or slip of a patch of mud. She lived in the city, she wasn't built for forest life.

A startled scream left her lips at the sight of a person led beside the tree in front of her. The person didn't move at the sound. Harry froze part of her wanted to check on the person. The other part new that in the Hunger Games everyone wanted her dead. She sighed, and stepped forward, like John had showed her she pressed her fingers against the woman's wrist but received only the feel of cool dead skin. The gash in the woman's neck had obviously killed her. Harry lowered her head. Resting her chin on her chest.

She would end up like that soon enough.


	12. Limitations

Sherlock had 'slept' for about three hours now. It made him feel useless, he was wasting valuable time. He let one eye half open. No sign of any human beings so he jumped to his feet. He got to work quickly, hooking a water bottle to his belt, stuffing a pack of dried banana chips in to a pocket and securing a sheath of 6 arrows to his back. He moved his other supplies to the back of the cave so no one would find them by accident. He closed his eyes listening to the soundscape of the forest. The flutter of a birds wings, the rustling of leaves, the distant sound of water trickling down a small stream. Sherlock's eyes scan the area. He was alone. Sherlock gripped his bow and started to climb over the rocks and through the forest.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry went off left in desperate hope to find water, food or, at the very least, some sunlight.

She'd fallen over earlier and now her right side was coated in mud. She wanted a nice warm bath but that was a luxury she would never have ever again. She carried on walking until she found a small opening, no bigger than 20m across of bright green grass. The sun reached down not a single ray being intercepted by the fingers of the trees. She gave a small laugh. No doubt another Tribute would find this small haven sooner or later but for now it was hers. To bask in, to absorb sunlight in. She led down in the middle feeling the warmth climb through her clothes. Maybe she should just fall asleep here and let someone kill her? It would be a nice way to die…

But do you want to let John down? Whispered a voice in the back of her mind

"Damn it!" she snapped out loud. Too loud. She froze. Was she hallucinating or could she hear voices in the distance? She jumped up and ran across the grass. Sprinting. Back into the tree's. She leapt over the roots and vines. She ran and ran until her muscles were on fire. She panted heavily. Then she heard a 'snap' a twig breaking.

"Amy!" someone hissed. Harry became a deer in the headlights. She had seconds to make her decision. Fight or flight.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock had been walking for a few hours. Mud had formed a brown rim around the soles of his boats. He didn't let his body complain about exhaustion. He didn't have the time. He needed to find the boundaries. He might be able to escape. The camera shouldn't be on him. He was just walking around. It all depended on the other Tributes.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry span around on her heel. Where could she go? There were no hollow logs. No big bushes.

The odds were not in her favour.

She would have to climb a tree.

She was afraid of heights. Her stomach curled into a knot. She found a suitable foot hold and branch for her hand a pulled herself up half a metre, another foot hold another branch. She rose slowly but almost silently. When the other Tributes were close enough to hear her she froze. Every muscle in her body locked in place and she stopped breathing. Below two Tributes walked past, she recognised them, one was Amy something from Wales the other, she couldn't recall her name was from the Isle of Man. They didn't speak to one another just walked eyes scanning the landscape, supposedly for her. Harry didn't move until 15 minutes later. She gave a shaky sob. She had to survive weeks maybe months of this. She wanted to die sooner rather than later. Unless she got an ally that would increase her chances of survival by 100%. Was it too late to ally up now? Who could she ally with?

Sherlock Holmes.

The obvious answer.

John's flatmate, colleague and best friend, surely he would want to help a relative of John?

Harry could only hope that he would and that she could find him.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock had reached the edge. The sea, well it appeared to be the sea, circling the whole arena but at closer inspection whatever the sparkling blue substance was it wasn't water. It burnt his flesh at the slightest touch, he'd dipped a finger in for experimental purposes and swore under his breath as his finger tip lit up a raw red colour. He remained in a crouch, elbows rested on his knees. So he couldn't escape via the Area boundaries. Time to make a plan B.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry was growing tired now. The sun had started to sink in the sky. Faint violet traces started to surround the clouds. Harry sank down in the crook of a tree root and started munching on some dried strawberries.

"Bloody Sherlock Holmes" she muttered, hours of wandering and no other Tributes in sight. She was feeling surprisingly lonely, craving human contact. She wondered what John would do in this situation. Would he hunt the other Tributes? Hide and wait? Become a psychotic murderer running around the Arena with a blood stained axe? She shook the thoughts away. She couldn't think about John. It hurt to much.

She thought about Sherlock instead. For the public he was bubbly, playful, sad about his father but intent on fighting in his memory. He was a public man, They loved him. He was exactly what they wanted. Exactly. Back in the Preparation centre. He got annoyed by unnecessary conversation. Made all answers as brief as possible. She hadn't seen a single emotion in his stormy blue eyes. John had said Sherlock was not a social being. He often pissed people off with his deductions. He was incredibly intelligent but simple concepts like sentiment were beyond him. What a strange man he must be. But John had somehow got through to him. Harry hoped that was a family trait. She was now sure that she needed Sherlock Holmes.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock had made it back to his cave in good time. The sky was rapidly darkening now. He stood on a high rock. Gazing at the sky for a moment. It was beautiful here, so many stars compared to London. He couldn't see the logic to drawing pictures into the stars, that need for humanity to apply order to chaos, to what was beyond their control. He smirked before leaving the rock and walking into the sanctuary of the cave, he pulled the blanket around his shoulders and used his lumpy bag as a poor substitute for a pillow. His day trip to the boundaries had left him exhausted and in need of some sleep. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes sleep took him.


	13. Allies and Rabbits

Harry awoke once again stiff and tired. Today she would find Sherlock Holmes. She had to. She stretched her limbs than glanced through the trees towards the distant horizon. The sun was just peaking up from behind a hill. She was going to make an early start, she didn't have enough food left for the luxury of breakfast, she pulled her rucksack onto her back a started trekking into the forest.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock gave a long stretch bringing his muscles back to life. His eyes inspected the light pouring into the mouth of the cave, it must be about 6:30am, he decided. Today he was going to try his hand at hunting. Rabbits. Not people, unless he encountered someone who intended to kill him. He quickly ate some nuts before gathering a knife, his bow and once again 5 arrows. Stepping outside he carried out his daily routine of scanning the area for other Tributes.

The coast was clear.

He vaguely wondered where the cameras were. They were so say always watching him so how had he not seen any yet. The thought made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He didn't like not being in control. Saying that, everything about the Games took away his control.

He jumped off his rock, and headed south, downhill, away from the Cornucopia, ideally animals would get as far away from humans as possible. He was going to have a busy day.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry had been walking for three hours now. She was fed up of the bloody games now. She wanted to go home. She wanted Clara. She wanted John. She huffed loudly. She resisted voicing her complaints not wanting to be seen as a useless Tribute who moans all the time. She dragged her fringe behind her ear. A frown drew her eyebrows together. There was a rabbit led 10 metres away, and arrow protruding from its neck, a halo of blood surrounded its head. She walked over to it and placed a hand on it's pelt. It was still very warm. Someone had been here recently. Very recently.

There was a soft crunch behind her.

She leapt up, drew her knife and span around.

There stood Sherlock Holmes.

Stormy eyes narrowed on her

Bow in hand.

Arrow aimed at her heart.

"Sherlock Holmes" she breathed the words out as a sigh of relief. He didn't lower the arrow. She didn't lower her knife. Harry corrected her footing, taking more of a battle stance. She let her gaze meet his, which was hard, his was so cold and calculating, analysing even the tiniest movement she made.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John's breath caught in his throat. On screen his sister and his best friend stood about 7 metres apart both ready to slaughter each other. He would give anything to be there with them. To tell them both to grow up and help each other. He yelled at the TV but they were miles away. They couldn't hear him. He almost stood up and punched the wall.

He almost turned the TV off.

But he couldn't move. His eyes were glued to the screen.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock kept his breathing level. If he released the arrow now it would kill Harry. It would enter her chest piercing the left ventricle, bright arterial blood would spread across her chest and she would die within minutes, less than that if she was lucky. He was confident that he could shoot her before she got the chance to throw the knife.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry's breathing was rapid, she couldn't kill someone! Let alone John's best mate! But he was pointing an arrow at her. Was he heartless enough to slaughter her?

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock mentally cursed himself. Since when did he care. He lowered the arrow. Harry blinked in surprise lowering her knife slightly

"For John's sake" Sherlock told her "He'd never forgive either of us if we were murdered the each other. Well, he'd never forgive me for killing you. I had the obvious advantage then"

"Thank you" Harry swallowed.

Sherlock watched her for a moment before spinning on his heel.

"Wait!" Harry grabbed his shoulder

"What?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to be allies? It's just the others are all teamed up. We could watch each other's backs. I know you'd rather team up with John but I'm the one here..."

"What happens if we take everyone else down? When we're the only two left?" he was genuinely curious, head cocked to one side

"We sort that out when we get there"

Sherlock watched her again. She stretched her hand out. Sherlock stared at it for a full minute before he accepted, not shaking it, just grasping it for a moment before quickly taking his hand back.

"Can you get the rabbit?" he asked before walking back the way he'd come. Harry stared after him then grabbed the rabbit corpse and hurried after him.

"Where are we going?"

"A cave"

"A cave?"  
"I found a cave and I keep useful items there."

"Ok" she scratched the back of her head

"Are you coming?"

"Yes! Um...lead the way."

Sherlock gave a short nod, and walked off through the woods not breaking his stride even when Harry tripped and fell to the floor. She could only send death glares at his ever retreating form.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Later, after another arduous forest trek, they were at the cave and Harry had managed to light a fire in the cave. The rabbit was cooking above it.

Sherlock had forgotten Harry's desperation to start unnecessary conversation

"You're like the Doctor aren't you?" Harry said

"What?" he frowned at her

"TV show? Timelord 900 odd years old travels in time. Alien?"

"I'm remind you of a 900 year old alien?"

"Yes. No. I mean. His companions, he says that he only chooses the best. You only choose the best as well. Like John. He proved himself to you so you let him help you on cases."

Sherlock frowned at her

"Don't worry about it" she shook her head

Sherlock looked back down at the fire

"It's just…you don't approve of me. I bet you wouldn't even talk to me if I wasn't John's sister"

He just watched her. She got the feeling that he mentally evaluating her, debating whether she was worth keeping.

"I'm gunna get some sleep" she stood up

"There's a blanket in the bag" he said without looking up. She nodded her thanks

"See you in the morning" she said quietly. He offered no response. Just remained huddled by the warmth of the fire

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry woke feeling a lot better than she had the last few nights. Suddenly a hand was over her mouth

"Some ones here" Sherlock whispered, removing the hand

"What do we do then Sherlie?"

"Sherlock"

"What?"

"Sherlock. Just Sherlock. Not Sherlie" he said the last word with venom

"Don't you have a nickname?"

"Sherlock" he growled "Can we focus on the situation at hand?"

"Tributes trying to kill us. Right?"

Sherlock didn't answer just stuffed a knife through his belt buckle and grabbed his bow.

"Are you coming Harriet?"

"Harry" she snapped grabbing her own selection of knives. Sherlock was still at the cave mouth when she looked up. This was the happiest she'd seen him since meeting him. Now that he had a challenge, even if it was a small one. His eyes became a very pale silver as the morning sunlight caught them. A snap from beyond the first line of trees signalled someone's approach.

Harry squinted to see if she could make any one out.

"One female. Approximately 5 foot 5 and has a nasty leg wound, giving her a bad limp most likely on her left leg. We need to take her down quickly"

"What do you mean 'take'?"

"We're in the Hunger Games. What do you think I mean?" he hissed under his breath

"Kill her? We can't kill her"

Sherlock gave an annoyed snort

"If I get killed remember it will be entirely your fault" he knew that would push her buttons

"Bastard" she muttered as he ducked outside to face the oncoming threat. She didn't move for a moment. Part of her told her to leave Sherlock to his Games but then the rest of her reminded her the she had come to him, she'd asked him to be her ally. With a sigh she unsheathed one of her larger knives and stepped outside.


	14. Tea and Trauma

"I shouldn't be here."

"But you came anyway John"

"A friend told me I should"

"And you always listen to this friend?"

John held his old therapist's gaze, No he thought silently I do not normally listen to Mycroft Holmes yet here I am

"He didn't really give me a choice. He told me I should start preparing for the worst"

"What is the 'worst' John?"

Her tone seemed patronising to John. He knew she was only doing her job but still. He watched her passively for a moment keeping his face blank of emotions.

"Losing Sherlock and Harry"

"What do they mean to you John?"

"He's my best mate and she's my sister!"

"Do you think that they are going to die?"

"Don't say it like that!"

"Like what John?"

"Like both of them dying is inevitable. They both stand a good chance. They can fight they can…You know what I was right. I shouldn't have come here. Nothing's happened" John pushed his chair back and stood up, he didn't bother to look back at his therapist as he walked towards the door

"Yet"

"What?" he turned around now. He glared at her, anger bubbling up "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You know the rules of the Hunger Games John. Only one can live. Either way you are going to have to lose at least one of them. You have to prepared for that loss"

John ran his tongue across the back of his teeth. Mind running through what he could say back but he stopped, opening the door and striding out letting the door swing shut noisily behind him.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Where is she?" Harry scanned the wall of tree's

"Coming"

"Any advances on that?"

"Get ready" Sherlock drew his bow back eyes fixed on a spot beyond the trees. Seconds later a woman burst through the trees

"Surrender" the woman, Joanna, growled "And I'll kill you quickly"

Sherlock released an arrow letting it scratch her arm. A warning shot

"That's how you want to play?" she leaned on her good leg and grinned madly "Looks like this is going to be easy"

Sherlock drew another arrow

"Ready?" he asked Harry

"Why not" Harry stood on the balls of her feet nodding to Sherlock but not taking her eyes off Joanna

Sherlock released another arrow doing more damage this time

"Playing Robin Hood?" Joanna snarled pouncing on Sherlock. He side stepped, allowing her to fall into the mud. The knife she'd been holding had punctured the skin of her stomach. Only a flesh wound but it still bled. She jumped up but Sherlock was ready. He had an arrow pointed at her head. Her hand held a knife.

They were at a stalemate, either could act first. Either of them could die so easily.

Sherlock was about to release the bow string when she cried out in pain. Face quickly going slack. Her body slipped sideways. Eyes gazing forwards. She fell to the floor. Behind her stood Harry, blood splattered on her face. Joanna lay dead on the floor Harry's knife in her neck. The canon sounded.

\-----------------------------------------------------

No matter how much he tried John couldn't be angry with Harry. He'd killed people before and not just at war.

When he'd first met Sherlock he'd killed the cabbie for him after knowing him for barely a day.

Now Harry to had saved the Detective's life. Not that Sherlock would ever admit it.

John pressed the base of his palms against his eyes. Just watching the Games seemed to drain him. Mrs Hudson had told him it wasn't healthy to watch TV all day in hope that he would catch sight of Sherlock and Harry so he'd taken up more hours at the surgery. But as Sarah had pointed out he couldn't work 24/7. Today he was on a forced day off and of course it would be the day Harry killed her first Tribute.

He sighed heavily and headed towards the kitchen a cup of tea seemed like a good idea.

The flat now had a plentiful supply of milk. John hadn't realised how much tea Sherlock drank.

The kettle clicked and the bubbling water calmed down. John poured the water into his favourite mug ignoring Sherlock's empty one that sat a metre away on the end of the counter. John stirred the tea quickly watching the liquid slosh around the mug before picking it up and going back to the TV

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Good" Sherlock decided "That was good"

"Good" Harry joked "Good? I just killed a person. I murdered her. I'm a murderer"

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to that, it was true. She had just murdered someone, but it was for survival.

How primitive Sherlock thought. Then he noticed it. In the corner of his eye, a camera. Impulse took over he redrew his arrow and span on his heel, the camera had been watching them, he pulled the bow back and with a satisfying crack the camera lens shattered

"Was that a good idea?" Harry asked him looking up at him

"No"

\-----------------------------------------------------

John blinked. His tea remaining untouched on the table by his leg He had never seen Sherlock look that angry. The man was normally so controlled and passive towards everything. But the look of hatred in Sherlock's eyes as he'd released the arrow, the pure hostility. John felt a shiver run down his spine and silently prayed that Sherlock didn't do anything stupid.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"I'm going for a walk" Sherlock told Harry "You should stay here"

"Why?"

"I'm going to see if they plan to 'punish' me for breaking their toys" he seemed amused

"Oh"

"Stay here and eat something whatever it is you want to do"

"Go home"

"If you can work out how feel free to" with that he was gone

Harry stared after him for a moment. She didn't understand him.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Tonight that sky was once more lit up, the group photo reappeared. The 5 Tributes who died on the first day faded, then Joanna and Amy faded

"HELLO TRIBUTES" boomed the voice "2 OF YOU DIED TODAY."

Joanna came up on screen.

Isle of Man:

Joanna Bennet

Wales:

Amy Tyler

"ONLY 6 OF YOU REMAIN. TOMORROW BRINGS A NEW DAY. NEW HOPE. GOOD NIGHT TRIBUTES"

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry buried her face in her hands sobbing silently. It was better to cry now while the detective wasn't here. She knew that he would work it out but that wasn't the point. She stumbled into the cave drawing the fleece blanket over her trembling shoulders. She let her body slip into sleep, knowing the cost would probably be dreaming of the death she'd caused.

\-----------------------------------------------------

She was peacefully sleeping, the blanket draped over her holding her body heat in.

"Harriet" the distant call of Sherlock Holmes made her growl with annoyance.

"Piss off"

"Harriet!" louder this time. More urgent…

"What?" she sat up, she could see him sprinting towards the cave an orange glow behind him

"There's a fire. We need to go!" he leaned in and grabbed her wrist "Come one!"

"No!" she yanked her wrist back to grab the blanket and their bag of supplies, she threw Sherlock his sheath of spare arrows

"No we can go" she jumped up, she shielded her eyes from the dancing orange flames that were metres away. Sherlock grabbed her wrist again and they started to run again. But the flames gave chase. Harry's lungs burned at the smoke that was filling them.

"Duck!" Sherlock yanked her to the floor as a ball of fire flew over there heads. He was up again in seconds dragging her behind him, part of Harry's mind wandered if this was how John felt living with the man. The rest of her mind was screaming at her to run.

"Watch out" Sherlock's voice sounded distant even though he was right beside here. Another fireball flew past this one catching Sherlock's arm. He gave hiss of pain but kept running. He dragged her through a bush to bring them out into a small opening. Then there wasn't anywhere else to run. They'd reached a cliff edge

"We're going to die!" she shrieked

"It's very likely but not today" with that he pushed her off the cliff. She screamed before she broke the surface. She was dragged back up to see Sherlock standing on the cliff edge looking down at her.

"Sher-" she was cut off as she was dragged under by the current. She kicked desperately to reach the surface but was dragged deeper. Black spots started clouding her vision. The current threw her forwards. She couldn't work out which way was up. She was thrown into a rock slicing a new wound into her arm. More black spots came. Her lungs burned. Her mind screamed at her telling her to breath. Her lips slid open a few precious bubbles of air were sucked out and water found it's way in. Black was everywhere now. Her thoughts were muddled.

Sorry John

The darkness took her.


	15. Plus Two

John had decided to not watch the Hunger Games. Watching them was supporting them. Giving them an extra viewer. He left his TV off and started typing up an old case he and Sherlock had down about 5 months ago. It was an unsolved one so Sherlock had deemed it 'Un-postable'. John smiled wirily as he wondered what Sherlock would say to him right now. If they had no cases Sherlock would be dressed in pyjamas and a dressing gown. His hair would still be long curly and probably frizzed up.

The wallpaper still held the image of a spray painted smiley face. John often felt mocked by it, as if it was reminding him of Sherlock's absence. John sighed loudly and snapped the laptop lid down. His gaze drifted to the TV. How would Harry and Sherlock be right now?

"No" he slapped his hands down on the table giving a resounding thud throughout the flat. "I'm not watching the Hunger Games!"

\-----------------------------------------------------

5 minutes later John was sat in front the TV watching Sherlock dive somewhat gracefully off a cliff, his body slicing through the water. He remained under for a while. John sat fingers interlocked resting on one knee as he leaned forward slightly, his earlier resolve to not watch the Games forgotten.

Sherlock resurfaced gasping for air desperately. His good arm was wrapped around Harry trying to keep her head above the water. Maybe Sherlock Holmes really did care.

John smiled as Sherlock dragged Harry onto the river bed.

Sherlock collapsed beside Harry. Lying on the gritty looking sand closing his eyes trying to refill his lungs. The camera started to pan away then the view switched to Luke and Tyson. John released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The stiffness in his limbs left with the stale air.

"Harriet, can you hear me? Harry?"

John? That was John! He always comes when I called, when I'm drunk out of my mind, he brings me home and always waits for me to wake in the morning She groaned slightly Great. I'm hungover John's going to love this…

"The other's will find us soon. You're scream was basically a huge light up arrow giving away our location"

That's not John. Who…? Then it came back

She let her eyes open to see not her brother but a dripping wet Sherlock Holmes. His arm was a patchwork of black, red and pink flesh, he needed medical attention desperately. He must've saved her

"Why didn't you let me die?" She snapped anger bubbled up in her. She wanted no needed to be dead.

Screw John, he hadn't picked her up when she was down for a long time. He had bloody Sherlock Holmes to go and have adventures with. He didn't need his poor excuse for a sister anymore!

"You should've let me die!"

"You missed the announcement"

"What?"

"They've put two more Tributes in"

"Why?"

"We're all allied up now. They threw fire balls at us and we lived. I can only assume similar things happened to the other's but no more died, unless the canon sounded while I was beneath the water. They want to mix it up and sent two fifteen year olds in. Not from any particular area but is suppose that's because they're not meant to win. They just want more slaughter"

"15 year olds? That's sick. I know 15 year old can be entered but it's never happened before has it?"

"Once"

"Really? Poor kid"

"His father volunteered and took his place"

"How do you know this?"

"I was the kid. We need to move quickly and then you need to rest"

"Sherlock?"

"We need to go"

"I'm sorry"

He blinked before giving a small nod, still his face portrayed no noticeable emotion. They didn't speak for the next few hours. They just trekked across the forest the sound of birds up ahead. They finally settled between the roots of the biggest tree Harry had ever seen. While it was still light Harry lit a fire and Sherlock melted into the forest to go and hunt for something they could eat.

Harry desperately wanted to eat something that wasn't a type of dried fruit.

When Sherlock returned he had company. A kid with shaggy blonde hair and dark eyes. He walked behind Sherlock looking apprehensive. He still looked clean and pretty healthy. Harry knew this was one of the kids who'd been dropped in today.

"Got a stray have we?" she smiled at the boy, he looked at her rather blankly

"Harry Jonathan. Jonathan Harry"

"John for short?" Harry asked, the boy shook his head

"Ethan for short"

"Nice to meet you Ethan. Not nice that you're here but…"

"Yeah" the kid gave a small smile and came to sit by her. The two indulged in idle chat which Sherlock refused to take part in.

When the sun started to lower in the sky they'd quickly put the fire out and sat in darkness. Harry and Ethan curled up beneath the blanket Sherlock on guard. He turned his face to the sky. A full moon shown down on him it was then he realised that he'd lost track of how many days he'd been here. How had that happened?

A faint buzz from his left told him that a camera was watching him, he couldn't be bothered to act happy for the camera. He just ran he fingers through his hair and gave and exasperated sigh. From his right he could hear Harry and Ethan breathing heavily in deep sleep. He'd never managed to sleep deeply. He always remained in a light sleep which he could wake from at the drop of a pin. He stood up stretching his long legs and peered through the darkness. Nothing had happened since the fire attack, he was growing suspicious. In the distance music started to play and an announcement filled the sky saying that Douglas Welling the other 15 year old had been killed today. Sherlock glanced in Ethan's direction, luckily the boy was asleep.

They formed a routine over the next few days, waking early moving a few miles, Harry starting a fire to cook whatever Sherlock caught and then extinguishing it before darkness fell. Sherlock seemed to have warmed to the boy, surprising Harry immensely, he'd even shown the boy how to use a bow and arrow as the Ethan hadn't had the few months training they'd had. None of them brought up the subject of what they would do if they were the final three. No one wanted to think about it.

Sherlock ended up on the first shift most nights. He needed little sleep therefore was alright remaining awake for hours. Tonight he decided against waking Harry for her shift. He was used to spending the whole night awake for cases so it wasn't a change for him.

Crack

Sherlock's head flicked sideways.

Someone was coming.

No.

Two people.

Two men.

"Harriet!" he kicked her in the shoulder, she groaned

"Other Tributes" he hissed at her. She was up in seconds, Ethan was less alert rubbing the base of his palms against his eyes.

"Arm yourself" Sherlock said shortly passing him a knife

Sherlock recognised the two tributes as Tyson and Luke.

Besides Sebastian Moran, the two biggest strongest Tributes left in the area, Luke was obviously ex-military.

He decided Harry should take Tyson, the man was huge but stupid. His attacks were strength based but predictable. Sherlock took Luke who was smart. More of a challenge.

The problem was Luke was too close. Sherlock threw his bow to the side, ducking away from Luke's fist, Sherlock was up again in seconds swinging his foot into the Tributes stomach just high enough to hit the diaphragm. Luke stumbled back winded. Sherlock took the moment to jump to higher ground.

He heard a camera in the tree by his ear.

He was live on TV then.


	16. Under the Willow

Harry backed away from Tyson. The man was huge

"Right now" she spoke to herself "I could be sat at home watching crappy day time TV instead I get to fight the incredible Hulk." She gave a nervous laugh as she stepped backwards

"Harry catch!" Ethan threw her a knife she caught it and held in front of herself towards Tyson.

He growled like a rabid animal salivating for her death. This man was truly a monster.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Luke drew his arm back ready to throw his own knife which gleamed in the sunlight, one edge was perfect and sharp the other jagged. Sherlock managed to grab his bow as he leapt backwards, he drew an arrow and released it. It went straight through Luke's right lung and probably scratched the heart as well. Sherlock was pleased to see the man fall to the ground struggling for breath that wouldn't come but then he noticed that Luke's dead fingers were empty, the knife was nowhere around the dying Tribute. Then there was a thud from behind him.

He turned around.

Ethan had fallen to the floor, a knife in his hand and a crimson splodge growing across his t-shirt.

The boys eyes were wide and fearful.

Behind them Tyson ran off not willing to fight alone yet.

Harry was about to chase him when she saw Sherlock crouched down beside Ethan.

"It's fine" Harry told the boy "All we need is a few bandages"

"You've got a good poker face" Ethan mumbled "If we weren't in the Games I'd probably believe"

"Thanks" Ethan said

"What for?" Sherlock brow furrowed

"For not killing me. I'd have died on my first day if it wasn't for you two"

"It's fine" Harry told him stroking his hair "If it wasn't for you Sherlock would've driven me insane by now. You know what he's like. The Incredible Sulk"

Ethan gave a short laugh

"No problem" His eyes fluttered

"No stay with us" Harry begged

Ethan whispered something else but it was too quiet to be heard, his body sagged into Sherlock's and Harry's arms. They remained silent. Motionless. Then Sherlock lowered Ethan to the floor and reached forwards to close his dark eyes. Never to see the world again.

\-----------------------------------------------------

John had agreed to go to the pub with Lestrade. He did need to get out of the flat.

"Do you think Sherlock cared about that kid?" Lestrade spoke as he raised a pint to his lips

"I've never seen him like that." John admitted "Mycroft told me that…well… when he was younger Sherlock was reaped, he was only 15"

"Shit. He won?"

"No his dad volunteered to take his place...and died"

"Poor guy"

"Yeah. Maybe he knows sort of how the kid feels?"

"But this is Sherlock. Do you think we'll ever figure him out John?"

"Never"

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry was sat beside Sherlock. They had the fleece blanket draped across their shoulders. Neither had spoken properly since Ethan's death, everything was a short question with a one word answer.

Harry had almost yelled at Sherlock.

Nearly told him it was all his fault… but it wasn't.

Sherlock poked the fire a stick trying to coax the dying flames to re-ignite. The sun was on the verge of setting so the fire would soon need to be extinguished anyway but him doing it more to keep himself occupied anyway. His mind ached with the lack of stimulation in the forest

"Are you alright?" Harry tried to make conversation

Sherlock dropped his stick, and turned to look at her, his pale eyes looking ghostly in the fire's glow.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"He died right in front of us"

"I'm a Consulting detective. I've seen plenty of corpses"

"This is different. And you killed your first Tribute today"

"This won't make sense to you but killing Luke didn't bother me. It is the fact I had to. I don't like them taking that away from me. That control over my own actions"

"They took that away the second the computer choose your name"

"Arguably yes. But killing someone is more to do with your morals. I'm sure killing is completely against your morals. I've never had to think about my own morals."

"To be honest. I've never sat down and thought about my morals"

"But you think of murdering someone as wrong"  
"Says the man that makes a living from finding and stopping murderers and criminals."  
"Hmm" Sherlock said neither agreeing or disagreeing "We should sleep in shifts still, there are only three other's left and we don't want to be taken by surprise"

"I suppose" Harry supressed an upcoming yawn

"I'll take first watch" Sherlock freed himself from the blanket. Leaving that conversation behind him.

He poured a trickle of water onto the fire embers the orange glow faded. He didn't look back at John's sister but the shuffling of leaves told him she'd lead down but after today he doubted she would sleep well.

He wouldn't sleep tonight. He didn't need it. He didn't like how Ethan's death had affected him. Death didn't normally touch him, he could examine a corpse and think of it as nothing but a shell.

Maybe Ethan had reminded him of himself at that age. Thrown into a battle he wasn't prepared for. Ethan had told Sherlock he had no friends, that he was an outcast. Sherlock knew how that felt.

He used to know how it felt now he just ignored it. He'd learned to ignore it. He didn't need to care.

Ethan had cared though.

Sherlock had cared at that age.

Sherlock gave his head a sharp shake.

He had no need to indulge in such feelings. He growled quietly under his breath.

He took in a deep breath of forest air. It was so much cleaner than London, it did help clear his mind and let him focus. Tomorrow he would start hunting the other's down. He and Harry's food supply was running low now. Soon they wouldn't be healthy enough to defend themselves and his burnt arm was only getting worse.

He was fairly sure it was infected now he wouldn't voice this to Harry though.

It wasn't important.


	17. Knife

Harry's eyes fluttered open.

The sun was glowing just above the horizon. The sky was a pinky-red.

Red sky at morning shepherds warning.

Sherlock's outline was visible perched on a nearby rock.

"You didn't wake me" she realised eyes widening

"I didn't need any sleep. You did"

"Contrary to your own belief you are human Sherlock"

"I can still survive a few nights without sleep" he paused "I plan to find other Tributes today"

"You mean you're going to hunt them"

"Yes"

"Why?"

"Because food is getting scarce. The number of water supplies are decreasing. If we need to fight logically we should do it while we are still standing"

"I suppose"

"Are you going to come or take your own path?"

"I'll come"

He nodded thankfully

"On one condition" she added frowning slightly

"Yes?"

"We find Tyson first. He helped Luke in Ethan's death. We should take him down first. The other two haven't done anything to us yet"

"Moriarty strapped a bomb to your brother's chest"

"They haven't done anything to us in the arena then. They've tried but here we are"

"Ok. We find Tyson first then"

"Thanks" Harry smiled up at him. He made her feel incredibly short.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Seb…Sebby. Come on Sebby dear"

"Can you not talk for 5 minutes?"

"You know that's not possible Sebby"

"Sebastian. And you're making me live like an animal at the moment in a bloody forest at least give me some peace and quiet."

"I got you the gun didn't I Sebby?"

"That's beside the point"

"You like the gun. Don't you Sebby?"

"If I can kill someone with it and get out of here then yes. Dammit Jim get out of that bloody tree."

Moriarty gave his Cheshire cat grin and slid off the tree branch.

"I think Sherly and Harry will come and find us soon"

"Are we staying or moving?"

"I've had enough of hiding. I want to watch you kill something Sebby"

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Do you even know how to track people in a forest Sherlock?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not that she could see as she walked behind him

"I'm not 'tracking' them. I'm predicting what Tyson will do. Water goes downhill. Water supplies are drying out so he will head down to find water. We go downhill and we might bump into him. The left side of the forest is more dense therefore easier to hide in again narrowing down his options. He is also a bit stupid and will leave physical evidence of his presence somewhere, like the remains of a fire or a footprint."

"Of course" Harry rolled her eyes this time.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock dropped into a crouch to examine a footprint he'd found. Harry expressed no interest.

"It's him"

"How do you know?"

"The print is about 1cm deep. With the density of this mud it would have to be someone around 15 stone and 6 ft 1". Moran is about 6 ft 5" therefore this has to be Tyson and before you ask it was made less than an hour ago. We are very close to him. Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly. Silence means one thing here. Danger"

"I can see that"

"Really?" Sherlock looked up at her shocked

"Yeah. I'd say danger is about 25 metres away. With a lot of knives" she grabbed Sherlock shoulder pulling him to his feet.

"We should run" she hissed at him

"Duck" Sherlock dragged her to the floor as a knife flew past where their heads had been moments ago.

Sherlock grabbed one of his arrows, jumping to his feet his released the bow.

He cursed under his breath as the arrow missed and got lost in the shrubbery behind.

He had only lost three arrows so far. He'd managed to find all the others and clean them to be used again.

He span left pressing his back against a tree which created a barrier between himself and Tyson. Harry followed his lead hiding behind a tree three metres away.

Harry drew a knife and leapt back into the space between the two trees and threw it at Tyson's direction. At the same time Tyson threw a counter move. Another knife

"Harry!" Sherlock yelled to warn her, it was too late he leapt forwards throwing her away from the line of Tyson's line of fire. Sherlock had her pressed against the tree. She heard a grunt of pain escape his lips.

"Sherlock?"

"Don't move" he hissed

She obeyed for a moment, then slid from his grip, span round knowing her last knife at Tyson. The knife sliced his jugular vein and got wedged in the tree behind him. Harry wore a grim expression, she was pleased with Tyson gurgled, blood bubbling from his mouth and spurting from his neck like a grotesque fountain. Harry turned back to Sherlock, he was leaning heavily against the tree, a knife protruding from his shoulder, dark red spreading across his t-shirt. A lot of colour had already left his face. He slid down the side of the tree, eyes falling shut.

A canon boomed in the distance.


	18. Burn

"One canon" Harry told herself. Only one. She leapt forward and caught Sherlock. A weak breath slid through his lips. His eyes were squeezed shut now.

Tyson was dead. Sherlock was alive.

She tried to remember what she had learnt from John.

She helped Sherlock sit against a tree and clawed through the backpack finding their scarce medical supplies. She knew it was useless but she cleaned the edges of the wound causing him to flinch.

He appeared to be conscious. His only movement was the rising and falling of his chest and his pale eyes watching her. She pressed lump of folded bandages over the wound then started bandaging tightly.

"You'll be fine" she told him

"That's what you told Ethan" he wasn't patronising her, just remembering

"Shut up" she snapped at him. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"It could most defiantly be worse."

"Does it hurt?"

"I probably have a day or two before it kills me."

"It's not that bad is it?"

"With medical treatment I'd be fine" he blinked a few times trying to stabilise his vision "but we're in the middle of a forest"

"Oh…You should rest a minute. I'll make sure the coast is clear. In fact I'll take all the shifts tonight. It's not like you could do much if Moran showed up anyway"

Sherlock nodded reluctantly. Watching Harry as she stood up and disappeared behind the trees

\-----------------------------------------------------

John had been in a war. He'd seen wounds a lot worse than the one in Sherlock's shoulder right now, he knew a lot of men who had suffered worse. Including himself. But they'd all got patched up properly and quickly.

Harry had done a reasonably good job with what she had but it wasn't good enough for the Arena.

Right now John would give anything to be in the Arena to patch Sherlock up.

Why couldn't the stupid detective just sit still?

Why didn't have to go looking for trouble?

\-----------------------------------------------------

Over the next 24 hours John received many texts and blog comments from people who knew Sherlock and himself asking him what they thought of the wound.

How long did he think Sherlock would survive?

Would Sherlock survive?

In the end John just turned his phone off.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Harry sat silently. She didn't take night shifts very often. Sherlock would often let her get a full night's sleep, not out of kindness, just because he wasn't tired. But now he was fast asleep and his forehead warm.

She stroked his hair off his forehead. They must've been here a while, his hair was starting to curl again.

She huffed loudly her breath forming a cloud in front of her face. They would have to find Moriarty and Moran tomorrow and kill them.

But then what?

Would Sherlock be dead in a few days leaving her the champion? Or would Moran kill them both?

The second option seemed more likely right now.

She chewed on her fingernails. Tension was growing in the Arena. The sky lit up quickly informing everyone of Tyson's death and then darkness returned.

\-----------------------------------------------------

When the sun rose Sherlock was already awake. He was ignoring the throbbing pain radiating from his shoulder. He didn't have time for it.

He and Harry both ate some dried fruit and set off into the forest.

They had to take frequent breaks and probably didn't make the half the progress they normally would in a day.

"How are we going to find them?" Harry was fed up of watching Sherlock struggle through the forest

"We aren't finding them. They'll find us"

"You're sure are you?"

"Yes"

"Why would they want to find us? They could be happy living in their mud hole in the forest"

"Because to James Moriarty life is game. This is just a further extension of that. To win the game he needs to kill me. And they'll probably kill you as well just because he can"

"Thanks for clearing that up."

"We should rest here a minute. I'm sure they'll show up soon. They know it's only us and them now"

Harry nodded. If Sherlock was requesting a break instead being forced into one things must be bad.

"Wait" she shuffled to the left "There's water"

"Where?" Sherlock used a tree to lean on to try and catch Harry's line of sight.

"There's loads!" Harry ran through the trees grinning

Sherlock struggled to another tree and saw where Harry was running

"No. Harriet don't!" he yelled

She ignored him

"It's not water" he couldn't move fast enough. "Harriet it's not water!"

She did slow this time. Beneath her feet was sand.

"It'll burn you if you touch it. It's acidic"

Harry walked to the water's edge and crouched down beside it. She pulled a water bottle from her bag. They had two and this one was already empty so she filled it with the water like substance.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock still clang to the tree unable to see what she was doing

"Getting back up"

"Back up. The acid?"

"Bottle it up and throw it at them if I need to"

She could practically hear Sherlock thinking about possible uses of the acid water.

"Good" That was the closest she would get to a compliment from Sherlock Holmes

"We should stay here for tonight" Sherlock decided "the acid water could be valuable protection"

Harry nodded "How much food is left?"

"Not enough. I can't hunt for us now. What little supplies we have need to last"

"Ok" she pulled the blanket from the bag and settled on a bleached log that's purpose was obviously to enforce the idea that this was a normal beach. Sherlock came to sit beside her.

"Probably our last night here. We could be home tomorrow" Harry smiled

"One of us or both of us will be dead within 24 hours"

Harry didn't answer

\-----------------------------------------------------

Neither of them slept. Harry lay on her back watching the stars twinkle above them. There was something calming about them. At one point a small one had shot across the sky, Harry had smiled, wishing for nothing in specific just everything to work out.

Sherlock was lead on his good side. He stared into the darkness, he spent some time in his Mind Place, quickly tying up loose ends and looking at all his information on Moriarty, Moran and the Hunger Games.

All three areas were annoyingly brief.

He agreed with John, Moriarty had somehow rigged the Hunger Games this year. But what was the purpose of it?

In the event of Sherlock and Harry's death both Moran and Moriarty would live, but still only one could win. Moriarty was obviously in control, the alpha of the two but Moran held the obvious strength advantage which should be enough to over power and kill Moriarty.

So why was the ex-soldier so servile to the consulting criminal?

From behind Sherlock Harry gave a small gasp, he glanced upwards to see a star sweep across the sky. He withheld a snort, Harry would almost defiantly be wishing upon it right now. That human desire to put their fate into the hands of other's.

He rolled his eyes before rolling back on to his side.

He let his eyelid shut but refused to sleep. Sleeping was for those who planned to live more than another 24 hours.


	19. Just as Effective as Nightlock

"What if there're not coming after us?" Harry flicked a hand like twig away from her face and ducked beneath a branch

"I'm never wrong"

"Has it ever occurred to you that you could be wrong Sherlock? Just maybe?"

"Aww. Don't tell him that! You'll upset him" the voice was almost child-like. Taunting. Cruel. And tinged with a slight accent.

"You took your time" Sherlock eyes scanned the trees instantly finding the silhouette he wanted

"Sorry sweetheart, I was a bit busy, unlike you Sebby enjoys my games. So this is the infamous Harriet Watson. Is she you're your replacement John? 'cause that's adorable"

Moriarty melted out of the shadows smiling at Harry. Normally she whip up a sarcastic comment to put Moriarty in his place but he was different to anyone she'd ever met. His almost ebony eyes radiated madness

"Don't worry dear. Moran normally likes to kill slowly but he's bored now, wants to escape the Arena so he'll kill you two quickly. He's got a gun it'll be pretty painless." He gave a predatory smile. Harry swallowed louder than she would of liked.

She could see why John was scared of this man. There was something about him that induced fear. Was he even a man? A click from the shadows warned her of Moran's presence.

"We're going to kill Sherlock first. You can watch if you like"

Harry backed away slightly unintentionally giving Moran a clear shot at Sherlock.  
\-----------------------------------------------------

Sherlock didn't have the strength to fight.

He stood shoulders squared (as well as he could) and face blank.

He had no emotions to show, he had known this was coming so why fake being surprised or scared?

Moran smiled as he raised the gun. His fingers reflexively wrapped around the gun, one finger poised over the trigger. The man was loving this. Sherlock's eyes flicked left at the almost silent whir of a camera. He'd already known they'd be live on TV.

The whole of England would be watching his slaughter.

They'd been looking forward to it for weeks.

They were probably already recording the DVD commentary and designing the box set cover.

He moved his gaze back to Moran.

Sebastian oozed confidence. He was in his element.

Sherlock's silence usually displayed power or thought but now it displayed acceptance with a bit of disinterest.

Moriarty leaned against the tree smirking, playfully.

Harry lowered her hand to her belt, and jumped when an idea hit her. She was close enough to Moran wasn't she?

She took another step into the darkness and starting unhooking something from her belt.  
\-------------------------------------------------------

Moran glared at Sherlock hoping to unnerve him, get some fear response before he killed the man but he achieved nothing of the sort. Sherlock was a blank slate.

Moran finger tensed on the trigger.

Time didn't slow down.

Nothing could slow Moran's finger.

Except Harriet Watson. She grabbed the water bottle, unscrewed the lid and with one quick movement threw it.

The acidic substance splashed across Moran's gun hand, clothes and caught his face.

He gave a hiss of pain. The gun clattered to the floor. She leapt forward and grabbed it. Moran scratched at his face

"What the hell did you do?" he snarled in her direction, she noticed the rapid movement of his pupils flicking every where. Had she blinded him?

Moriarty's smile faded, malice sparkled in his eyes.

Moran fell to the floor

Harry grabbed his gun and pointed it at him. She couldn't bring herself to shoot. There was something different about the feel of the gun in her hand.

Sherlock drew an arrow, holding his bow in his bad arm and using the good one to draw the arrow back. He let the arrow fly into Moran's skull. The canon boomed.

Sherlock drew another arrow and pointed it at Moriarty.

Moriarty smiled, a mad glint in his eyes.

"Aren't we clever today?" he mocked the smile grew and he turned around to walk away. Sherlock released the arrow. He couldn't see whether Moriarty was hit or not. But then the canon sounded and Sherlock allowed himself to fall against the tree.

Harry still held Moran's gun. Sherlock held his own bow.

"Are you going to kill me then Harriet?" he was genuinely curious

"No. I'm not going to kill you. We kill each other!"

"I'm already badly injured, you can just kill me and win. It'll save a lot of time. And one of us survives"

"Yeah but my ways more fun"

"Harry" his voice was low while he glared down at her.

"I thought you liked proving your clever" she smirked "This way we die against the rules. The only thing they can't control"

Sherlock tilted his head to look down at her, she smiled back,

Harriet did remind him of John in some way.

"Ready?" she raised her gun to point it at his heart

"Why not" He winced raising his bad arm and drawing back the arrow.  
\---------------------------------------------

Somewhere in London. Mycroft sighed loudly knowing that the consequences for what his brother planned to do could be very bad. Spark an uprising even.

DI Lestrade stood at a crime scene with Donovan and Anderson. Staring down at the corpse beneath them. None of them had a clue how she'd died

"We need him" Lestrade sighed.

John Watson didn't move. Didn't speak.

They wouldn't seriously go through with this would they?

Of course they would.


	20. Exit Wounds

"Sorry John" Harry said loudly for the camera.

Her finger curled around the trigger. The closest she'd ever been to a gun was paintballing when she was a teenager. John had been amazing and given her a million bruises. She'd managed to hit him on the arm as he'd ducked behind a tree. But Sherlock wasn't a moving target. There was no backing down now. This was her idea.

She met Sherlock's eyes. In the darkness of the forest a single sunbeam trickled through the leaves reflecting off his eyes making them appear more blue than normal. They held that impassive look that she'd grown used to. She lifted her other arm to steady the hand holding the gun.

Sherlock drew the arrow back so his fingers brushed his ear. The bow string bit into his finger the way his violin strings used to when he plucked it hard enough.

His eyes followed the line of the arrow, if his shoulder wasn't so damaged it would be a perfect shot, but his weakness meant the shot could be up to half a metre out. He would have to time this perfectly.

He saw Harry was murmuring something to herself, her lips moved in a way that mouthed 'three'

then a 'two'

then-

CONGRATULATIONS! The voice boomed across the Arena. Both Tributes froze. A few birds leapt from the nest flying through the branches squawking.

Harry's eyes flicked up then back to Sherlock.

THIS YEAR WE HAVE BEEN GIVEN TWO CHAMPIONS! HARRIET WATSON AND SHERLOCK HOLMES! YOU WILL BE REMOVED FROM THE ARENA SHORTLY!

Neither moved for a moment.

Harry felt her fingers slacken then heard a thud as the gun fell to the forest floor. Sherlock moved his arm forwards moving the arrow to point at the floor before re-sheathing it.

"We made it" Harry whispered pulling him into a hug. He didn't hug her back but did give her an awkward pat on the back.  
\------------------------------------------

A helicopter landed in the clearing in under 2 minutes taking the two of them.

Sherlock was instantly rushed into surgery for his shoulder. Harry was just checked over and given numerous injections.  
\------------------------------------------

The next 24 hours swept past at light speed. Harry was monitored for a few hours. Then moved into the Preparation Centre.

Her hair was washed, cut and re-dyed to match it's colour before the Arena.

Her make-up was done to disguise her scars and bruises.

She was dressed in a long red dress.

The colour of blood.

She was given a matching shade of lipstick and high heeled shoes which were quickly swapped for a ballet pump styled shoe due to her inability to walk in heels now.

She hadn't seen Sherlock since the Arena and could now only hope he was alright.  
\------------------------------------------

Sherlock woke up to find himself in a hospital. Part of him wondered if the Arena had been a drug induced dream but then he'd never met Harriet Watson. Why would he randomly bring her into his dream? And his shoulder was aching.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position, no one appeared. His forearm was now encased in bandages and painkillers leeched the pain from his body. He felt a lot healthlier than he had in weeks. Also considerably more bored than he had felt in weeks.

Once his mind was no longer clouded by drugs Jasmine scurried in.

"So" she smiled at him "Still alive then. Have to admit I did not see that coming"

"Thank-you. Can I go yet?"

"You have an interview tonight first. I've got everything sorted. Your shoulder is all patched up I've been told you have to wear a sling but I can work with that"

Sherlock didn't comment

"Can you walk or are you still high on pain meds?"  
"I can walk fine thank you" Sherlock proved his point by getting to his feet.

"Back to our own styling centre then Holmes" she smiled playfully leading him away from the hospital  
\------------------------------------------  
Harry had been offered food which she ate all of, she'd refused the wine and had a cup of tea instead. She'd had to have her make up touched up and was then led to the back stage area. She had hated the first interview enough, the second one felt worse somehow.

She could see a silhouette leaning against the wall

"How's your arm?"

Sherlock turned to look at her. He too had been given some makeup to hide his new scars and put some colour in his face. He was dressed in an expensive black suit and black shirt that was supposedly meant to have a tie which he'd removed. His bad arm was bandaged around the burns and his hand. The shoulder wound was hidden by his clothes but the arm was held in place by a deep blue sling. His hair hadn't been recut but had been washed and trimmed slightly to neaten it up

"Fine"

"Good. I still think this is a dream you know?" she smiled slightly "That we're going to wake up in the Arena and get killed"

Sherlock glanced towards the stage. They were being summoned. The crowd started cheering and whooping.

"Here goes nothing" Harry muttered following Sherlock.

"I'm not acting tonight" he told her before stepping on stage. His face lacked a smile. He didn't wave to the crowds. He strode across the stage with an air of superiority to sit on the plush leather sofa. Harry strode across the stage smiling slightly. She raised her hand in a half wave at one point but lowered before sitting with Sherlock.

She kept glancing at the crowd looking for John but couldn't find him.

"So." The creepy over botoxed host grinned "The first time in the history of the Hunger Games that we have two Champions. Two of you. That's amazing. Is there a love story behind it? Are you two star crossed lovers that could stand to see the other die?"

"No" the both spoke at the same time voices flat

"Right…" the Interviewer was confused by this "Er…Anyway. What did you think of this years Arena uniforms?"

"Not much" Sherlock muttered

"They were er perfect for the Arena" Harry gave a polite smile ignoring Sherlock

"Well they are being replicated in all sizes for public purchasing soon. So everyone you heard it here first Harriet Watson loved this years Uniform!"

Harry gave a confused smile as the crowd cheered.

"What did you think of the Arena? I hear they spent 4 million pounds designing it this year"

"Four million?" Harry choked

"And that's not including the Launch night. Next year will be nearly 6 million. You two will be provided with front row seats of next year's games. They are setting up a system where you get to fly over the arena and watch the Tributes. What will you two do with your tickets?"

"Um" Harry felt the colour leave her cheeks

"Burn them" Sherlock decided "Preferably on a fire but the right acid would work just as well"

There was an awkward silence. The Host stared at the blank cue screen waiting for more writing to appear. Until the next question appeared

"Did you enjoy your time in Arena?"

Harry fell silent. The Host gave Sherlock a wary glance. But not even Sherlock had anything to say to that.

The Interview finished. The crowds cheered again. Sherlock and Harry left the stage and back to the Prep rooms.  
\------------------------------------------

Jasmine walked into Sherlock's Prep room smiling. Whether it was at the sight of Sherlock or the fact that this was the last time she'd see him for a long time.

"Here you go. The clothes you arrived in, good as new"

Sherlock took them without word.

"Well Sherlock Holmes I'll see you at the Victory tour and next years open event if you come" with that she left and Sherlock changed into his old suit. He carried his coat and scarf with his good arm.

He and Harry would be but in the 'Rehabilitation Centre' for two days so their mental stability could be judged.

Apparently they had almost been reprogrammed to think as all other humans as threats so now it needed to be assessed whether freedom would be a good idea.


	21. Back To Reality

Sherlock was sprawled out over his bed. Harry was in the same room but sat on the sofa reading a magazine. Well trying to.

Both didn't know whether they'd be allowed visitors as the Rehab centre was new this year.

Sherlock had spent the first three hours commenting on his own boredom.

Harry had ignored him.

Now they sat in silence.

Something that Arena life had taught them to fear. Silence meant someone was coming. Harry couldn't help but feel on edge. Sherlock appeared unfazed.  
\----------------------

The next day Mycroft had come to visit. Sherlock showed next to no interest. Harry had spoken to him briefly which was a lot more than Sherlock.

"What can they do to us because of our little 'rebellion'?"

"I don't know Miss Watson. As Sherlock 'kindly' pointed out. Your sudden death or even illness will be cause for the Gamemakers and our government to gain the blame. Most things that can happen to you from here on out will be blamed on your time in the Arena."

"So we're safe?"

"Supposedly. I must go now. I have some issues to attend to. I'm afraid I only got in due to my political status, John hasn't been granted such an opportunity. You'll have to wait until you release to see him" He glanced at his watch and left.

\----------------------  
"What's the first you're going to do when you get home?" Harry asked Sherlock. It was midnight but she knew he wasn't asleep.

She wasn't asleep because she was excited about the freedom tomorrow brought. Sherlock wouldn't be asleep because he was Sherlock.

"Make sure John has disposed of my skull"

"Oh…Ok" she frowned at him through the darkness before laughing

"What about you?" Sherlock couldn't sound less interested

"I'll have to go and see Clara. And then I'm going to sleep. In my own bed with my own duvet for about three days"

"Why?"

"Because I can"

"I see"

Harry laughed "No you don't"

"No I don't" He agreed

"I reckon the first thing you'll do is deduce everything you can about John and make sure he's alright."

"As his older sister isn't that your job?"  
"Yes but I can't tell what restaurant he's been to by the colour of his tie."

"You could if you tried. People just don't-"

"People observe but don't see. Yeah you've told me many times"

"Only four times"

"Yeah that's enough"

She heard Sherlock chuckle softly, a rare sound.

She didn't bother restarting their conversation. Both were happy with mutual silence.  
\----------------------

Harry was the first to leave the Rehab centre. She ran outside to throw herself at John. She hugged him as if her life depended on it. He squeezed her back.

"Never do that to me ever again" He said into her neck

"It was revenge for you joining the army" she joked "It's so good to see you John."

"It's good to see you to."

They remained in one another's embrace for a moment then pulled away.

"How was life with Sherlock then?" he smiled at her

"Interesting but that could've just been forest life. I do pity you though John, he's not allowed to do anything with his bad arm. That means he's bored"

John laughed a proper smile spreading across his features for the first time in months.

"You should go see Clara" he gave her a pat on the back. "If you want to stay 'back together' that is"

Harry smiled at John giving him another quick hug before going to find Harry. John smiled after her for a moment before turning back around to see his flat mate walking out of the door tying his scarf around his neck. Sherlock looked John up and down

"You shouldn't be watching so much TV John. It's bad for your circulation and can only decrease your IQ"

"Nice to see you to"

"Indeed" Sherlock came to stand in front of John

"We match" John smirked

"I'm sorry?"

"We both have bad shoulders" John chuckled

"Yes John. Hilarious"

"Could you at least pretend to be out of the Hunger Games loop?"

"I'll have the press after me now"

"Come on. Lestrade's got you a police escort. Fancy anything in particular for dinner? And don't you dare say you're not hungry. You've been through hell the last months and trust me I know what hell's like"

"A take-away will be fine John."

"Take-away it is" John grinned at Sherlock, the detective offered a smile back. "Come on Lestrade's waiting"

John led Sherlock outside to the car park

"He got Harry a police escort as well. She's already gone with Clara."

"The Champion returns" Lestrade was leaning against his silver car smiling playfully, the smile softened and he pushed himself away from the vehicle "How've you been Sherlock?"

"My life's been on TV-"

"That doesn't tell me how you've been"

"I've been fine thank-you Lestrade"

"It's good to see you still alive."

"I'm sure Anderson won't hold the same feelings, how much did he bet that I'd be killed?"

"How the hell did you know about that?"

Sherlock just smiled "To Baker Street if you don't mind Detective Inspector. The further we can get away from this place the better"  
\----------------------  
1 month later…

Sherlock let his eyes scan the e-mail, Harry did email him occasionally. He typed the last three lines of his reply and hit the enter key before clicking the laptop shut.

"Come on Sherlock." John was pulling his coat on "Sherlock they just want to thank you. You found their painting"

"Dull"

"You just have to smile for the camera then we can go"

Sherlock rolled his eyes before turning to follow John but a soft thunk from behind him caught his attention. He turned around stormy eyes scanning the room finding an arrow in the far wall. One of his missing arena arrows. A blood red ribbon was tied around it. Sherlock yanked it from the wall. Embroidered on the ribbon in elegant script were three letters

IOU

What was that supposed to mean? His mind started churning through everything he could think of. What did that mean? Where had it come from? He flipped the ribbon over. Wrote on the back was JM.

"Sherlock!" John yelled up the stairs. Sherlock placed the arrow behind his violin where John wouldn't see it and followed John's voice.

It would appear James Moriarty was still alive

And wanted revenge.

Things were starting to look interesting.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't guess from here it would go into The Reichenbach Fall.


End file.
